“He’s been great,” said Elizabeth. “He keeps telling me that it’s good to have someone who can communicate so well with the Americans and the English, but I’m terrified of the French guests. I’m sure they think I’m an idiot and wonder what I’m doing here.”

“It’s a learning curve,” said Lucy. “I’m sure you’ll catch on pretty soon. One day, voilà, you’ll understand everything, as if you were born here.”

“It can’t come soon enough,” said Elizabeth. “Meanwhile, let’s pretend you’re a guest and I’m busy helping you, just until Jean-Claude comes back.”

“Fine with me,” said Lucy, seating herself gratefully in one of the curvy chairs provided for guests. “I really do need your help. Is there anybody here named Serge?”

“Serge d’Amboise? The assistant manager? Why do you ask?”

“I think he may know Chef Larry, that’s all,” said Lucy.

“Well, that’s him over there,” said Elizabeth, indicating a very tall, dark, and handsome man standing in front of the reception desk. Unlike the other employees, who were all wearing the Cavendish blazers, Serge was dressed in a beautifully tailored suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and slim waist. “You can ask him yourself.”

Lucy had to admit that Serge’s splendid appearance was rather intimidating, and she suddenly felt terribly self-conscious in her plaid coat. “I can’t just walk up to him and start asking questions,” said Lucy. “Can’t you introduce us?”

“Sure,” said Elizabeth with a shrug.

Lucy followed her daughter across the expansive lobby, noticing how Elizabeth always turned heads. It was true, she thought, that beautiful people had an advantage over ordinary folks, and she wondered if they knew it. Elizabeth simply expected everyone to give her the attention she believed she was due, and they usually did. No wonder she didn’t get along with Sylvie, who expected pretty much the same thing. There couldn’t be two queen bees in the same hive, and Lucy didn’t expect the two roommates to stay together much longer.

“Serge,” Elizabeth was saying as the tall man bent his head toward her, “I’d like you to meet my mother, Lucy Stone. Mom, this is Serge d’Amboise.”

“Enchanté,” said Serge, taking her hand. For a moment Lucy thought he might actually kiss it, but he contented himself with a gentle squeeze. “You must be very proud of your beautiful and accomplished daughter.”

“Of course, I am,” said Lucy. “This job is a wonderful opportunity for Elizabeth.”

“We think very highly of her here. She is so American, so fresh.”

“Fresh is the right word to describe her,” said Lucy, smiling, “but in America it has a different connotation.”

“Mom!” protested Elizabeth.

“What do you mean?” asked Serge, furrowing his brow. “I must know this. It is so hard to pick up slang and idioms.”